Origins of a Feather Duster
by Dreams-Of-Ash
Summary: The story of Babette before the curse.


Disclaimer: I do not own Beauty and the Beast.

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 **Origins of a Feather Duster, Chapter One**

 _Two years prior to The Curse..._

Babette learned three things by the time she turned eighteen. The first: her mother was neither for nor against anything, unless that something was her father. The second: the world was run by men, and for that reason it was bitter. The third: she was as volumptuous as they came, and that would be her salvation.

So when her father died in the war, her mother following soon after, Babette had no given herself time to mourn. She simply shed her former skin, and in its place she pulled on the "french maid" persona. A sweet, seductive voice and some ripping of necklines later, and Babette was a new woman.

What she lacked in street smarts and intelligence she would make up for in looks, as her mother had.

The man was pig-faced and appropriately pink when he stepped into the pub. He was dressed in a brown leather jacket- too fine to be a commoner, too cheap to be a noble. His hair was pulled back impeccably into a curly ponytail at the nape of his neck, which swung to and fro as the heavyset man took in his surroundings.

Babette, like the rest of the now-silent room, took an immediate interest in the stranger. It was quite rare to receive a new patron, let alone one so… peculiar.

Veronique made a move toward the stranger. Babette shoved her away with a squeal.

" _Bonjour,_ handsome!" Babette sauntered her way in the stranger's direction, a slender hand placed delicately on the curve of her man turned to her, arms held tightly behind his back. "Bonjour, mademoiselle. I am looking for a Miss Jacqueline-"

"We don't have a… Jacqueline here, _monsieur,_ " Babette blinked heavily. "Babette," she extended her hand.

The pig-like man did not take it, rather growled a quick "Cogsworth" before spinning on his heel and exiting the pub. He turned around just long enough to see a bar brawl break out. A mug was punched into his hind end as he left.

When Cogsworth returned three days later, he had a wingman (or, rather, wingwoman). She was a middle-aged woman- her hair more silver than blonde and her frame plump from childbearing. Babette quickly deposited the mugs of beer on a customer's table, ignoring the look the man gave her as she bent over to do so. These… newcomers intrigued her more than common flirtation, and that was a feat unlike any other for this young lady.

"Yoohoo! Might I help you?"

Cogsworth rolled his eyes at the sight of her, but the woman merely smiled. "Hello, dear," she greeted. "Do you know a woman by the name of Veronique?"

Babette couldn't help the pout that came upon her face. Why was it ever other barmaid was wanted but herself? She shot herself a glare in a customer's mug. Was her make-up blotchy? "Ze woman you speak of his getting married," Babette explained, keeping out the part about the babe she had conceived to necessitate this… union.

"How unfortunate," the woman's face fell into a wrinkled frown. "My apologies, love. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Mrs. Potts. I trust you know Cogsworth?"

Babette nodded, turned her thick eyelashes up to the piglike man. She winked. He scowled. Cogsworth turned to Mrs. Potts. "The master will not be happy when he learns she broke her promise…" he trailed off. Babette took a step closer, confused.

Potts slapped the man, and Babette mentally applauded the old woman. "We'll figure it out- I assure you," she turned to the still-pouting barmaid. "Thank you, dear."

Mrs. Potts pulled up the straps on her dress before she left. Babette waited until she exited to pull it back down.

"We…. Need a maid."

Babette blinked the sleep from her eyes. It had been a week since she was fired from the pub- more of a rebellion on her part than anything. She pictured the small amount of coins she had tucked into her mattress. She extended her hand, and this time Cogsworth took it, shaking it furiously, releif evident on his face.

" _Oui_ , when do I start?"

It was by no means a "happily ever after," but Prince Alexander's castle was for certain a step up from the saloon. Babette found the smell of houseplants preferable to that of alcohol, and though the young master was deplorable, the palace was abundant in broom closets to evade his wrath. The servants were kindly- a tightknit group overflowing with stories to tell. And the food- oh, _the food_ \- she had never tasted anything so delicious in her entire life. Cogsworth had not been lying when he mentioned the " _absolute perfection of our culinary staff!_ " So naturally, when she was not dusting (her unofficial job these days), she found herself in the kitchens.

The kitchens were manned by none other than Mrs. Potts. The woman had a patented sweet and "been there, done that" attitude. This particular morning, Mrs. Potts hummed a familiar tune as the servants bustled around her. The scent of cinnamon filled Babette's nostrils as she blinked against the cloud of flour. "Morning, dear," called Mrs. Potts from somewhere to her right. Babette smiled and showed off her "new and improved" maid outfit.

Madame had been kind enough to lend her some lace, which she had sewn in around the neckline, complementing the cleavage there. Mrs. Potts scoffed at the sight, however she would grow used to her fashion choices from now on.

She met Lumiere in the moonlight. He was lighting the candles in the ballroom as he prepared for that night's guests, the firelight illuminating his handsome face. Babette had smiled, recognizing the castle ladies' man when she saw him. She placed Mrs. Pott's favorite ballad on the record system.

"Care to dance, _monsieur_?"

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To be continued...


End file.
